


Sweeter Than Sugar

by puppydeanandjen



Series: Shelter!verse [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Demon Blood Addict Dean, M/M, Non-Consensual Blood Drinking, implied!Wincest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-15
Updated: 2018-06-15
Packaged: 2019-05-23 21:53:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14942033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/puppydeanandjen/pseuds/puppydeanandjen
Summary: Not an addiction.





	Sweeter Than Sugar

**Author's Note:**

> I was supposed to write a sequel to 'Because I'm Supposed to Be Your Shelter', but this came out instead. I wanted to expand a bit on what Dean is going through. I promise I'll get to the continuation someday, but for now, I hope you guys enjoy this. 
> 
> Feedback is always appreciated! <3

Not an addiction.

That’s what Dean tells himself, snaking his head into the crook of the poor woman’s neck, sucking at the sliced skin that’s painted in crimson. He doesn’t think how salty it is, doesn’t think how delicious it is.

It’s only to gain strength as preparation for what’s to come.

There’s nothing sexy about the girl- demon, the other resident has already passed into the gates of Heaven- as it writhes on the sheets, pitch black eyes seething with anger. A demon trap is painted above in neon yellow and sigils engraved across its skin, containing it on the bed and in this mortal body, but the sheer amount of force he applies to its pale wrist that bruise in violet and blue under his grasp keeps it still. It’s littered in cuts and bruises that he inflicted on it, fabric torn apart but leaving enough to cover. White, rough bed sheets blossom in bright red almost like a beautiful rose that’s achieved its potential beauty.

An image of what the world will become if Dean fails.

It sneers a string of curses as he ducks in again, biting into the skin a tiny bit more for some of the blood that’s still blocked by veins. He looks like a fucking vampire, but it’s sturdier this way- he’s learned from repeating this countless times-, harder to remove his hold. Honestly, Dean would rather not do this at all, hating the screams of agony and cries that sound exactly like the humans he saves, but it’s the only way to display his dominance to the demons that support him. They won’t follow the path of a human, much less a weakling, so he has to convince them that he’s good enough or those monsters will switch to his brother’s side.

His brother’s whose destiny is the one that Dean walks upon so that Sam doesn’t have to suffer.

All for Sammy because that’s what he is right? A shield that’s meant to protect the one he loves the most.

This bitch isn’t innocent either, constantly disobeying commands with its lust for souls. It deserves to pay for its disloyalty to the soon to be king of Hell, the demon blood gushing in his brain tells him so as he devours its neck.

Its screams pierce through the walls as if the demon were trying to reach heaven, even though it’s impossible for it to do so. Frankly, it’s annoying and Dean decides he’s done.

Snatching the flask and demon knife off the bedside desk, he twirls the cap loose, still straddling its thin waist, and slices into a major artery. The liquid inside squirts upward, spraying his face slightly before shifting back. He closes the wound with the flask, hearing bounce on the metallic side in a fluid movement. Hands slap his arms, reaching to grab at his throat as it struggles to breathe.

Power thrums through his fingers as he sets the knife down next to him and twisting ever so slightly. An invisible force constructs the demon’s airway, the swatting hands retract to its neck, gulping short breaths of air as its body become pliant. Once finished, he tugs the flask away, his hold still on its airway, and places it on the desk. Then he releases, the demon gasping deeply in relief, letting his power travel down to caress its heart instead which thumps in rapid beats. Its breath quickens with realization, reaching ocean blue pupils.

Dean crushes it with the clench of his fist before it could become aware, falling limply onto the bed with diluted irises. Her skins already gone cold under him all still and fragile and pure flesh; it’s gross. Swinging off her onto the soft carpet, he gazes away, cleaning the knife and flask with a couple of tissues.

_There’s another presence in the room._

The blade twirls easily in his hands, the blade digging gently into intruders neck. It’s just Meg in all her slutty glory.

“He’s here,” she states calmly with a cheeky smirk as if a blade, specifically created to kill her kind, wasn’t pressed against her pale throat.

“Who?” It’s more of a demand than a simple question.

“Sam Winchester”


End file.
